died.
“It is indeed a great victory, Majesty. I would go so far as to say that the Arktos people have been destroyed for once and for all.”
The ogre drew a deep breath and snorted through his broad nostrils, knowing he should be satisfied but aware that there was still a vague sense of unease lurking in his mind. Impatiently he shook his head and flexed his long, muscular arms.
He reminded himself that he was a a mighty ogre leader, heir to a kingdom that had survived five thousand years. His lineage could be traced to a time when Krynn had been ruled by his proud race, when humans and elves were mere irritants on the carapace of a world belonging to Grimwar Bane’s ancestors.
The prince of Suderhold was a splendid example of that heritage. A strapping bull ogre, Grimwar was tall and broad bodied, with fists like hammerheads and legs as sturdy as tree trunks. His mouth was exceptionally wide, a trait of favor among ogre males, boasting a lower jaw jutting proudly forward to display two magnificent tusks. Each of these ivory cones was fully four inches long and inlaid with golden wire. Across his shoulders was a cloak of white bearskin, a long pelt covering his upper arms and extending all the way to the ground. His boots were black, made from thick whaleskin and rising higher than his knees.
He wore a golden plate across his chest, a metal disk so heavy that a strong human would have buckled under its weight. That breastplate was secured by four chains of thick golden links, extending over and under his shoulders to meet in the middle of his back. At his side, suspended by another heavy chain of gold, hung the Barkon Sword, sacred weapon of his ancestors. This keen blade, five feet long, had carved human and elven flesh since long before the First Dragon War.
“Here, my prince,” declared one ogre, coming out of a village hut, a domicile slightly larger than the others. He bore a huge, dark pelt in his arms. “It is the skin of a black bear.”
“A black bear?” Grimwar was fascinated. “Never have I seen the like.”
The raider held up the fur, which trailed onto the ground even from the height of his upraised arms. The pelt was lush, luxuriously shiny and thick, so much so that the burly ogre strained from the weight of the massive skin.
“It must have been a splendid animal,” the prince acknowledged. “That skin shall go in my cabin.”
“Perhaps a trophy for the king?” Baldruk suggested.
Grimwar snorted. “My father already has his trophy-a young wife!” He glowered at the thought.
The dwarf smoothly adopted a new tack. “The prisoners of the Arktos from the other villages have spoken about their chieftain … he who bears the Black Bear cloak,” Baldruk Dinmaker reminded him. “The walrus-man said that this was the village of the chief. No doubt this robe is their talisman. Your capture of it is symbolic of your utter triumph.”
“The tusker chief spoke truly,” said Grimwar. “The chieftain was slain here today, along with his warriors. We are told this is the last of their accursed villages, are we not?”
“Yes, by the tusker, Urgas Thanoi.”
“I believe he speaks the truth,” the prince said with a grim chuckle.
“He’d better. Holding the tusker’s wives as hostage was a stroke of genius on Your Excellency’s part,” chortled the dwarf.
“Indeed it was.” If the ogre prince had paused for reflection, he would have remembered that Baldruk Dinmaker had been the one to make that suggestion, but such introspection was not in Grimwar Bane’s, nor any ogre’s, nature. Instead, he cared only to bask in the glow of another successful raid. He turned and roared to two of his warriors standing at the foot of the galley’s ramp. “Bring me Urgas Thanoi!”
In moments the walrus-man was hustled onto the shore. Urgas plodded across the beach on his great, flat feet. His tiny dark eyes glowered from the deep folded skin of his face. Two great tusks jutted from his mouth, but he made no move that could be taken as a threat. Even from five paces away, Grimwar Bane smelled the fishy stink of the barbaric creature. How he would be glad to be rid of that smell!
“You have served me well,” acknowledged the prince. “I am glad that I spared your tusks. You know, I gave serious thought to having them sawn off.
The thanoi scowled, his leathery face creasing into deep wrinkles. “It would have been a sentence of death- my tribe would never let me return, thus shamed.”
“I have decided to release you back to your tribe and let you return to your stronghold as chieftain. Take care that you remember who is your liege.”
“How could I forget, Your Majesty?” If the tusker was being sarcastic, Grimwar couldn’t tell. “My wives … they will be released, too?”
Grimwar nodded. He had no desire for the company of the three fish-eating cows-they had spent the spring and summer in chains and were a bother to feed.
“I have your assurance that this is the last of their villages, here on the Icereach coast?” the ogre prince asked.
“Yes-you have seen that the shore of the White Bear Sea is but sparsely settled. For all my life, my people have explored in the wilds along here, watching, spying, waiting for a campaign such as you have waged to rid this coast of human scum.”
“You have helped us,” the prince acknowledged. “The Arktos are finished, and your people shall be rewarded with the right to stay for all time in the citadel set aside as your own.”
“Your Excellency is most gracious,” said Urgas, with a bow so deep that his tusks touched the ground.
“Yes.” Grimwar had several practical reasons for allowing the walrus-men to maintain possession of the ancient fortress across the strait. For one thing, they would harry the few surviving humans, and for another he would have a stronghold of allies on the point of land at the terminus of Icereach.
“With your permission, Sire, my wives and I shall depart at once. We will swim across the strait and bring word of your greatness to the rest of my tribe, which awaits me there. Naturally, we desire to get there well before the release of the Sturmfrost.”
“Very well.” The prince was secretly relieved. He would have feigned a celebration with the tusker chief and his wives in his mountain fortress, but he could only imagine how bad the place would smell, what with hundreds of oily walrus-men now dwelling there. This was an ally from whom he would be glad to keep his distance. “You may make your departure at once.”
The thanoi chieftain waddled away, padding on his flapping feet, while the ogre prince turned his attention to the hills rising above the coastal village.
“We found only men here, hunters and warriors. There must be survivors, their families, up there, somewhere,” said Baldruk Dinmaker. The dwarf stretched as he leaned back to look slyly up at the ogre prince. His hand, still holding the deadly weapon he so jauntily named “Snik,” gestured toward the rocky hills rising beyond the little coastal village.
“Bah,” Grimwar Bane snorted. “We killed enough men. Let the women try to survive through a winter if they wish. It’s not worth the trouble to pursue them. Besides …” He chuckled at a thought that made him feel rather clever. “If some of those wenches are taken in by the Highlanders, they will spread the tale of our raids. I would like for the rest of these humans to fear me.”
“Fear you they shall, Excellency,” agreed the dwarf. “I daresay the name of Grimwar Bane will bring terror into human hearts for generations to come.”
The prince scowled. It was his deepest desire that there be no more human generations, no humans at all- except for slaves of ogrekind-in this great expanse of land that was his ancestral kingdom. To this end he had embarked on the brutal campaign that had lasted these past four months, a series of lightning attacks and several particularly satisfying massacres, culminating in this bloody landing that had so thoroughly shattered the main camp of humans.
He knew, though, that, even though the coastal-dwelling Arktos had been decimated, more of the humans lived in the inland hills and mountains. These warlike Highlanders dwelt in fortified towns and were beyond the reach of his galley. He vowed to himself that they, too, would eventually be exterminated, but that would require long, grueling years of war.
Now his thoughts turned to home, and he pictured his own wife, the stern high priestess Staric ber Glacierheim ber Bane. What dire prophecies, what bleak warnings, would she have for him when he returned?
Another thought-the voluptuous new bride so recently taken by his father-brought a deeper frown to the
